Gone
by GoldSeven
Summary: A little vignette set just after "An Invisible Thread." All is well. At least Peter thinks so. We know that nothing has ever been so wrong. Written because *I* need to mourn, dammit.


**Gone**

The pyre was bright in the night, illuminating the ghostly emptiness of Coyote Sands. Another funeral at a site full of graves. Only that there were no mourners here.

Just watchers. Guardians. Warily looking on as the flames licked up around the wood and the body lying on it, until so much was consumed of Sylar's body that Peter was finally prepared to allow himself the liberating thought that Sylar was, finally, gone, and was not coming back.

Liberating it was, but the sombre mood around the pyre remained. Peter didn't even have to look at them all to know none of them felt like celebrating. Too much had happened in just a few weeks. Mohinder was still struggling with the demons within. Matt had hardly spoken a word after the fight; Peter had heard from Mohinder that Daphne had died. He had tried to talk to Matt, offer condolences, tell him how sorry he was that, despite all their efforts, he had lost someone so close to him. Matt would barely meet his eyes, in fact had avoided him most of the time. He had avoided everyone. Peter had half feared that Matt would jump at Nathan's throat for Daphne's death, but nothing of the sort had happened.

Ando and Hiro were subdued; like Peter, Hiro had lost his powers to Arthur Petrelli. Like Peter, he had regained a measure of them, but not all, and at a price.

Claire was quiet, still shaken, but had been the only one who had shared some of the triumph he was feeling, but hardly permitted himself to feel. He would have expected Noah to show some satisfaction at the death of the man who had put his family through so much, but Noah had not betrayed anything, even less than Matt if that was possible.

Angela… the only other time Peter had seen her remotely like this, so detached, out of reach, had been at their father's funeral. His first funeral, mind. There probably weren't that many people in the world who had two.

And Nathan.

Peter would have loved some time alone with Nathan. There was so much to catch up on, so much that needed to be resolved. He didn't even know yet what exactly had happened after his brother and Sylar had gone out of the window. For some reason, he hadn't had any chance to catch Nathan alone. It wasn't even that Nathan was avoiding him. There just always seemed to be someone else. Angela, Noah, or Matt.

And now, one by one, the odd funeral congregation was scattering. Mohinder was the first to leave, then Hiro and Ando, then Matt, then Claire and her father. At last, only Peter, Angela, and Nathan were standing there, watching those almost hypnotising flames from opposite ends of the pyre.

For a long time, none of them said a word. They were still here. Peter thought he could sense the same feeling coming from the other two in this place of the dead: After everything that had happened, they had somehow made it through.

Nathan was the first to move. Angela looked up at him slightly as he walked around to where Peter stood, and came to a halt next to him.

"What are you going to do now?" Nathan asked in a low voice. He looked perfectly himself again, Peter thought, clean-shaven and wearing a plain black jacket, showing no signs at all of the fight. Peter was aware he probably looked a lot scruffier, still bearing the cuts and bruises from when Sylar had sent him crashing into the table at the hotel suite.

Peter took his time in answering. Finally he said, just as quietly, "I'll see whether I can come up with something to convince the NYFD/EMS to take me back in, and get back to work."

Nathan gave a light chuckle. "You really mean that, don't you?"

"Course," Peter said, with just a hint of a grin. "Every hero needs a secret identity."

He saw Angela smiling slightly as she looked at them.

There was a _crack_ from the pyre as part of the wooden construction collapsed, and sparks burst up into the dark. Peter watched tersely as more of what remained of Sylar's body slid down as well, hardly recognizable as a body at all.

"He's gone," Nathan said, speaking aloud what Peter still hardly permitted himself to believe. "He's not coming back."

"Yeah," Peter replied quietly, staring at the black shape until it intermingled with the bright flames in his vision.

_He's gone._


End file.
